Gulp

by Mary Roach
5 out of 5 stars

Mary Roach has done it again. Exhaustive research involving possibly some of the strangest conversations in the weirdest settings has resulted in yet another book that makes science not only fascinating, but laugh-out-loud funny.

This time, she’s tackled the digestive system – end to end. Historical details, little-known facts, hilarious footnotes* and Roach’s trademark delivery make reading about eating, digestion and, yes, poop, a page turning experience.

Take her conversation about "hooping" in a prison with a likeable guy with nice teeth named Rodriguez (identified as such to protect his identity) serving a life sentence for murder. Hooping, for those not in the know, is when prisoners hide stuff in their rectums. Like iPhones. And more. Much more, as Rodriguez cheerfully shares with us all.

Who knew our gut and overall transport system for food and nutrients (among other things, apparently) was such a marvel of engineering? Mary Roach, that’s who.

She also addresses endless fads that have surrounded our digestion, from fiber obsessions to colon cleansing to the now almost-trendy gluten phobia. And, I’ll just throw this out there, she stuck her arm into a cow’s stomach. Through a specially made "cow window" that the cow didn’t seem to mind. Up to her elbow.

There is no nuance of this topic that is off limits for Roach – from fecal transplants, coprophagia, and the function of flatulence to Elvis' chronic and probably fatal constipation, she er…sniffs out and, by her own admission, sometimes badgers sources to spill what they know and corroborate her findings. E.g., Dr. Rosenbluth:

"Think of it," said Robert Rosenbluth, a doctor whose acquaintance I made at the start of this book. "No engineer could design something as multifunctional and fine-tuned as an anus. To call someone an asshole is really bragging him up."

As a former journalist, I’m continually in awe of the quotes this woman gets.

Get it, read it, and then read all her other books too. In the end (ha), you’ll be smarter, humbler and your sides will hurt from laughing. Seriously. You’ll actually learn a lot about the digestive process, because Gulp is a superior example of science journalism.


*Like this one: "Meaning 'by way of the anus.' 'Per Annum,' with two n's, means 'yearly.' The correct answer to the question, 'What is the birthrate per anum?' is zero (one hopes)."

Or this one: "I challenge you to find a more innocuous sentence containing the words sperm, suction, swallow, and any homophone of seaman. And then call me up on the homophone and read it to me."

Room

By Emma Donoghue

4 out of 5 stars

Another reviewer compared Room to the Italian film Life is Beautiful, which is kind of a bummer, because I had the same thought. But I’m going to continue with it anyway. In the film, which is more about love than war, a father shields his young son from the horrors of being in a concentration camp by telling him that they’re really just playing a game, and that everyone in the camp is playing too. And the kid buys it – kind of like we used to believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny. What’s amazing about the movie is how viewers are almost forced to experience the horror of the situation through the whimsical filter of a child. You can almost taste the father’s desperation – and you wonder if he would have survived at all were it not for his fierce determination to protect his son.

Room is kind of like that, only, you know, without Nazis. Kidnapped seven years ago, Jack’s mother (Ma) is being held prisoner in a fortified, soundproof garden shed. She is supplied with the minimal “comforts” to survive by her captor, a (surprisingly) peripheral character who visits at night for sex and that’s about it. Her will to survive is fueled in large part by her innate need to raise and preserve the innocence of her son.

And so far, it’s working.

Ma gave birth to Jack five years ago in the shed, so Jack has no concept of life beyond a place he doesn’t even know is a prison. His happy life is filled with games and routines -- screaming at Skylight once a day, counting pieces of cereal to eat, chores and lessons with Ma, and (still!) breast feeding – that are totally normal for him. For Jack, “Outside” is a noun that’s beyond his scope of understanding. He’s only seen daylight through Skylight (everything in the shed is a gender-specific proper noun – Skylight, Table, Bed,…), and, though he’s been exposed to TV, none of it, in his mind, is real. We know this, because the entire story is told from his perspective. And this is where some reviewers lost faith. I, however, thought it worked brilliantly, and I was completely drawn into Jack’s 11’x11’ world while still maintaining a peripheral perspective of the horror his mother was actually going through, and had been going through for the past seven years.

As Ma’s mental state deteriorates and she begins to hint at the reality of their situation, and as Jack’s capacity for empathy begins to develop (albeit slowly – like any five-year-old), details of the situation come into focus, and the hope of escape nudges at Ma enough to keep her from completely shutting down.

Jack’s naïve observations, his need for routine and boundaries, and his childish egotism are both poignant and, at times, hilarious. And his mom’s grit and determination to protect Jack while she struggles with her own demons is kind of fascinating too.

I don’t want to say much more about the plot, so give it a try. And for godssakes, don’t talk to strangers.